


hunters

by Cancelpocalypse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dry Humping, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Masturbation, Nipple Licking, Scissoring, Sexy Wound Tending, Slow Burn, WHY IS THAT A TAG i will rather call it 'adoring boob appreciation', also muscular leonie rights, dmlx hinted if u squint, leogrid, leonie swears, oh man oh hecc do i have to tag the sexy stuffs, small tit leonie rights, why is leonie so hot smhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 00:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse
Summary: Pausing for a rest from their sparring match, Leonie pushes her short hair away from her face, the fringes spiny with sweat slowly springing back. Leonie has something there, with the short hair. It leaves the cut of her cheeks and her quick grin free to the onlooker, her eyes unhidden by bangs, sharp gaze of a hunter. She’s said her father is a hunter, and the skill was passed down to her, no?Ingrid’s stomach lurches a little bit as she thinks again of how ridiculous it was for Dorothea to brag of pouncing on her. If anyone could pounce . . .
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	hunters

Ingrid storms out of the costume room at the monastery, leaving behind Dorothea and a shattered friendship.

Was it a knee-jerk reaction?

No. No, that’s her true feeling on it. She has no wish to be “pounced” on, least of all by Dorothea. Where did she get the idea that Ingrid would even like that? Mages don’t _pounce_ , anyways. She hasn’t once seen Dorothea do anything of the sort. The charming singer may be elegant and flirty, but a pouncing hunter she is not.

Ingrid should maybe apologize for being a little harsh, though? The tone of her own _back off!_ rings uneasily at the back of her mind. But she doesn’t feel like an apology is exactly warranted. Stiffly she makes her way to somewhere else, somewhere that _isn’t_ the costume room at Garreg Mach monastery.

Dorothea flew to her aid only a month ago, staving off a suitor turned malevolent. Ingrid had already given her something in return, not really expecting them to be even after the exchange, but at least to close the case on that affair. Nevertheless, Dorothea seemed to enjoy her company, always coercing her into attending a play in town or to go do something frivolous. Ingrid accepted, sometimes. It was odd, but nice, to have a friend who – well, who wasn’t Felix or Sylvain or Dimitri. Even if Dorothea was a little bit like the Gautier heir, Ingrid’s had to deal with Sylvain her whole life – she knows how to handle a flirt.

Or at least so she thought. She must have encouraged Dorothea too much.

She finds herself at the training grounds. It’s getting late, but she needs something to take her mind off things. Sighing, she enters.

On the far sparring area, there are Felix and Dimitri going at it. Ingrid snorts to herself. For how much of an asshole Felix has been to the prince lately, he sure seems to spend his fair share of time crossing weapons with the man. Ingrid would interrupt them and ask for a round against Dimitri, but she’s too tired and antsy. She has to be in top form if she’s going to put up a fight against their house leader. Not that she ever expects to be his better, but she can improve.

The nearest sparring area is taken up by archery practice. They’re really supposed to practice elsewhere, but the walls of the training grounds do provide shelter from drafts. Leonie, from another house -- the Golden Deer -- is there with a girl whose name escapes Ingrid. Starts with a B? She’s the girl who ran out of the dining hall screaming last week, after Felix accidentally bumped into her.

“Keep your other arm straight! Put some muscle into it,” Leonie is instructing the girl, who is making her best attempt to draw back the string on a longbow that seems entirely too large for her.

The girl wails.

Ingrid has sparred with Leonie a couple times before. An archer, but also good with the sword. Amused, she watches Leonie try to physically maneuver her pupil into the proper position, but eventually the smaller girl ducks out of her grip and runs out of the training grounds, bow in hand.

Leonie sighs and then notices Ingrid, raises her hand with a wave. Ingrid waves back. Dimitri and Felix are racking their swords and leaving.

“Hey, remember, I’m kicking your ass tomorrow after lunch,” Leonie yells at Felix even as she heads towards Ingrid.

Felix turns and gives her a scoffing _ha!_ and then he’s gone, through the oaken doors after the crown prince.

Ingrid laughs as they go to the rack of training swords together. “You’re really going to kick his ass? I hope you get him good.”

“Oh trust me, I did a few days ago. We went to spar out on the bluff, I set up a trap and got him fucking solid. He didn’t see it coming.”

Leonie’s language startled Ingrid the first couple times they talked, but she expects it by now. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“He could’ve set a trap for me. All’s fair,” Leonie grins.

Ingrid finds the training sword she likes best; Leonie removes one from its holder as well. They go to assume stance.

“Ready?” Ingrid calls.

“Ha!” Leonie shouts, which means _go_.

They trade blows, Ingrid quickly warming up, her feet and core reminding themselves of stances and balance. Leonie will gain a couple feet of ground; Ingrid will pivot away, drive her back. They’re decently matched, both fast; Ingrid, if not much shorter, is slighter, and has to try to turn that into an advantage (dodging, swerving, feinting). However, the first point is Leonie’s, as Ingrid’s caught off-guard by a powerful blow that knocks her sword straight out of her grip.

She lets slip an exclamation of surprise as the weapon clatters to the ground. Leonie briefly sweeps the tip of her weapon towards Ingrid’s chest, but doesn’t bother calling point, just lowers it again as Ingrid retrieves her sword.

“If you wouldn’t mind another round,” Ingrid says, and Leonie nods, reassuming a starting stance.

They go again – this time, Ingrid gains a point, still after a rather lengthy exchange of blows.

Pausing for a rest, Leonie pushes her short hair away from her face, the fringes spiny with sweat slowly springing back. Ingrid removes her hair tie and re-does it, restraining all the loose strands that have come free. Leonie has something there, with the short hair. It’s . . . it’s really unique, among the students. A noblewoman would be frowned upon for choosing such a style. _I suppose a commoner can do as she pleases._ The style is boyish but it fits her. Leaves the cut of her cheeks and her quick grin free to the onlooker, her eyes unhidden by bangs, sharp gaze of a hunter. She’s said her father is a hunter, and the skill was passed down, no?

Ingrid’s stomach lurches a little bit as she thinks again of how ridiculous it was for Dorothea to brag of pouncing on her. If anyone could pounce . . .

“Ready?” Leonie says.

Rolling her shoulders and straightening her posture, Ingrid nods. They go another round. Leonie wins, but only after they trade blows for a solid couple of minutes.

“You know, you’re pretty good for your age,” Leonie says, panting as they rest again.

“What do you mean?” Ingrid bristles. Sure, she’s only 17, but Leonie’s probably not much older.

“Felix said you’re the same age as him.”

“So?”

“Nothing, just that you’re good, already.”

Ingrid squints. “Thanks . . . ?”

“You’re welcome.”

“How old are you?” Ingrid asks, suddenly suspicious.

“Almost 20,” Leonie says. “I know, I’m fucking ancient.”

“Well, Mercie’s older than you,” Ingrid counters.

“Who’s she? Oh yeah, your healer, huh? I hear she’s pretty good.”

They end up talking for a couple minutes before agreeing it’s late and time to leave. As they head to the dormitories, Ingrid asks Leonie what she had to do to get into the Officer’s Academy. “If you don’t mind telling. I’m – well, I know nobility has an easier time, not necessarily that we should.”

“Oh nah, I don’t mind. Well, there was the application. And the skill test. And a lot of money. Might not seem like a lot of money to you all, but it’s a lotta fucking money for us. Borrowed from half the village to get here.”

“Interesting. I didn’t have a skill test. But I also had an application and a fee. It was rather large, even for House Galatea, but I just agreed to see a suitor over tea a few times and that mostly took care of it.” Ingrid’s quite aware of how privileged that is. No matter how the solution annoyed her, Leonie certainly wouldn’t have had that option.

But Leonie doesn’t seem to take offense. She makes a scoffing sound. “You know, I honestly can’t imagine having that much money. Must be a lot easier to get a wife if you can throw gold at her until she accepts.”

“Well I’m not that easy to win over.” Ingrid lifts her chin. “I don’t intend to be bought, and I really don’t feel half bad about leading some of these characters on only to reject them.”

“Bet they deserve it.” Leonie jostles her in a friendly way. “I heard you left last month to literally go fight off a suitor. You’re to become a knight, huh? No Lady Galatea for you?”

“If I can at all help it. I’d like to serve the Kingdom, not some husband.”

“A knight . . . “ Leonie shakes her head. “Might’ve been me, if born a bit higher. I’ll settle for merc. But you won’t catch me living in the Kingdom. Too fucking cold.”

Ingrid laughs. “As harsh as the winters are, it does give us something to brag about. But you’re right. I don’t think I’d mind being further south. I don’t know if you know, but House Galatea was long ago part of House Daphnel. I still bear the crest. Maybe it’s that part of me that would like to see the Alliance someday, at least. Where we came from.”

“Really? It’s a plan. Let’s go, someday after we’re graduated. I’ll tour you. You’ll love it. Warm, verdant, not so stuffy like this place, even. You’ll see the wildlife before it’s cooked on a plate, hahaha.” They’ve eaten together a few times, enough that Leonie’s remarked on Ingrid’s appetite for daphnel deer. “You won’t wanna leave.”

“I have my duty to Faerghus,” Ingrid says seriously. “But I would love to visit.”

“Just you wait,” Leonie says with a glimmer in her eye. “Just you wait ‘till you see the beaches and the birds in Derdriu. . . I’ve only been twice myself. It’ll be nice to go back.”

After they’ve parted and Ingrid has cleaned up for bed, she opens the mail delivered under her door with a sigh. Ah yes, this man . . . a count from Adrestia. He persists in sending her unwanted letters. She tosses it without even reading past the first line. It is not the time to bother herself with these constant headaches.

Lying in bed, she thinks how much she prefers Leonie’s company to Dorothea’s . . . it feels much more comfortable, and she isn’t wasting time doing silly things like going to town to see plays. Sparring with her will only bolster Ingrid’s own skill with the sword. Leonie wields a sword a lot like Felix does; she might not be as strong, but she’s more unpredictable. And nicer. Ingrid falls asleep hoping to watch them hash it out sooner than later, and she’ll be cheering for the hunter, the merc-to-be . . . .

*

As the months go by, Leonie and Ingrid spar relatively often. Leonie tells Ingrid their professor is making her a pegasus knight, _much_ to Leonie’s chagrin. “Flying isn’t fucking natural,” Leonie tells Ingrid, and from that point on, Ingrid is determined to show her otherwise. Leonie’s good on a horse, but a pegasus is a much different beast. She needs to learn the signals to control her mount, balance and stability aloft; to just get enough air time is the first hurdle, no weapons yet. So Ingrid helps her out, and sometimes even the shy archer girl, Bernadetta, joins them. Gradually Leonie learns, and stops feeling so motion sick. They’re able to fly out in formation drills, soon enough.

Of course, pegasus knight in training or not, they are still students, and so have stable duty. Shovelling manure after your allotted flight time is absolutely required.

Sweaty and not smelling too great, Ingrid and Leonie along with six other students finish the unsavory task late on a Friday afternoon. Church servants come to haul away the manure to the gardens and greenhouse, or to the marketplace. (Apparently, pegasi “blessings” sell for quite the coin to some farmers.)

“Blessings, my fucking ass,” Leonie says as she yanks off a glove and tosses it into the basket for soiled stable clothes.

Ingrid takes off her apron and throws it to join Leonie’s gloves.

“Are you going hunting tomorrow?” Ingrid asks.

“You bet. Want to come?”

Ingrid has only been granted the time to go hunting with Leonie twice, and both times she’s been more of a hurt than a help. It is fascinating to see Leonie in her element, however. Silently bold, the moment when she chooses to draw back her bowstring, gaze sharp and form strong – that moment is the best. Equally admirable though in a different way is how Leonie insisted on butchering the smaller animals herself, once they’d returned to the monastery. Ingrid hadn’t stuck around long for that; Leonie had teased her about it. Something about eating meat but not being able to stomach the preparation. “I . . . well, I would actually want you to catch something of size without me scaring it off. I think our professor has us drilling for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion tomorrow anyways.”

“Fair enough. I’m already ready for you to beat me, I don’t need to bother with drills. Plenty of time to hunt.”

“Don’t say that. You’re improving, and quickly.”

“I can barely set an arrow to the string when I’m up on that thing! Much less fucking aim!”

“True . . . your lance grip is a little better than your bow skills yet.”

Leonie grins and shakes her head. “And _you_ can actually use a lance from pegasus. Swoop around how you like. I can only do either. Move my weapon, or steer my mount. How you manage to do both at the same fucking time eludes me.”

“You’ll get it,” Ingrid says, feeling a bit silly since, well, since Leonie’s older.

“Can’t wait ‘till we’re graduated. I’m never getting on a pegasus again.”

Ingrid laughs. The baths are a bit of a trek from the pegasus stables; they pass the knights’ hall as they go. Leonie waves to someone from her house as they walk by, heading down the cobbled path on the edge of the tea gardens.

“So, any more suitors to fight off recently?” Leonie asks.

“Fewer than when I was at the House,” Ingrid says. “Although I’m sure that’s only because their letters don’t forward to Garreg Mach easily. Father usually sends me a summary telling me what I’ve missed.”

“Ha. And still no one? Not even one interest you?”

“No,” Ingrid says. There’s only ever remotely been one: Glenn. Before. They’d essentially been betrothed from birth. Though, he’d been like a brother to her, she supposes, in hindsight – he died too young to have become anything else. Ingrid suddenly catches Leonie giving her a puzzled look. She clears her throat. “No, not of late, and not ever, honestly. There was one . . . we were friends, as children, and I suppose our fathers planned for us to wed once we came of age. He died, though.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Glenn, Felix’s brother,” Ingrid clarifies. “He died in the king’s service, at the Tragedy.” No matter which corner of Fodlan you’re from . . . you know what the Tragedy is.

Leonie seems to take this information in stride. “Oh goddess. Is that why he’s like that? Felix, I mean?”

“Like what,” Ingrid says with a small half-grin. She’s watched them spar a few times. It is _highly_ entertaining. Leonie’s generally cheery mood drives Felix up the _wall,_ and especially when she beats him.

“A prickly fucking asshole. And also crazy about the sword.”

“Partly, I suppose,” Ingrid laughs, shaking her head. “He was doing alright, but then he fell out with Dimitri a couple years ago. They were close, and then they weren’t. Somehow . . . it all goes back to the Tragedy. I think training is his way of being alright, for now.”

Leonie nods. They keep walking, students and monks and monastery staff passing them in groups and ones and twos.

Ingrid mulls over Leonie’s question further. Really, no suitor has ever held her romantic interest. The thought comes to her: _Isn’t that odd?_ She’s gone to her fair share of balls, and danced with enough men, really – really, you’d think by now there would be at least one or two to interest her. Sylvain and Felix and Dimitri are all her friends, but just that, nothing more. And they each have their own excellent qualities. For heaven’s sake, Dimitri is the crown prince of Faerghus. Suppose someone like that came to her doorstep with a dowry – it’s not even a question. She would refuse, she knows she would. Goddess, are her standards really that high? _What am I even looking for in a man?_

Well, she’s not looking for a man. That’s the whole reason she’s here. Learning to keep suitors at bay with her lance, proving her knighthood against her family’s wishes and social expectations. No time to worry about getting herself into even more trouble. Not like Leonie is any trouble, although sometimes Ingrid finds herself thinking about her for really no reason at all. At least, there can’t be a reason, can there?

Maybe there is, and it’s a little uncomfortable to think about.

**

The Battle of the Eagle and the Lion sees the Blue Lion house victorious.

However, with a shrewd eye, you can tell it’s just a matter of development. The Blue Lions students have been assigned to a very straight and narrow competency path by their professor. Their skills are higher than those of the other houses’ students, who are mastering a wider palette of abilities. With enough time, the diversity of skills presented by the Golden Deer or Black Eagles would be an exceptional challenge for the Blue Lions.

Ingrid discusses this with Sylvain, Dimitri, Felix, who all generally agree. Ingrid surmises that they could use another pegasus knight in the Blue Lions house. For goodness’ sake, mostly everyone is a foot unit, except Ashe, who’s training to fight from a wyvern’s back.

Just last month, Lysithea (part of Leonie’s house) joined the Black Eagles. Why not . . . why not ask Leonie what she thinks of joining the Lions? So Ingrid does. They would need professor approval, of course, but just to see what she thinks.

“You really want me to join Team Faerghus? I wouldn’t fit,” Leonie laughs. “You all are so put together. It would be so fucking awkward. I’d fit better in the Black Eagles, even, despite the chaos in that house.”

“Come on, Leonie, you already know me and Felix quite well, and Mercie’s patched you up a few times,” Ingrid says, a little indignant at the refusal. They’re standing at the back of the cathedral; morning prayers have just finished, and they have a few minutes before the start of class.

“Why do you need me, anyways? You’re far my better in the sky.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t shoot a bow to save my life. We could use a pegasus knight with a bow and sword _and_ lance proficiency!”

“You know my heart’s not in the whole pegasus knight thing.”

Ingrid huffs. Of course she knows this. She chews her lip, looking for another argument. There is one, but it’s the uncomfortable one, a reason that’s not right, anyways. She has to persuade her some other way.

Leonie starts leaving the cathedral at the beckoning of someone from her House, and Ingrid tags along.

“Ingrid,” Leonie says as they leave and squint against the dawn light, “I’ve thought of joining before. For you.”

Ingrid’s breath catches in her throat. “What do you mean?” In the warm early rays of the sun, Leonie’s eyes are almost amber.

“I mean that,” Leonie sighs, “that . . . you know, we work well together. The girls in the Deer – don’t get me wrong, they’re great but they don’t have what you have. The dedication. The focus to train, to improve, despite everything. No getting sidetracked. And a kind of maturity. I like that about you.”

Ingrid’s stomach twists inside her. “I – thank you.” She could same about Leonie! She could say more. But she bites back anything else and stops that train of thought where it is. It’s not the right thing, not for her. “So . . . but . . . you won’t join?”

Leonie eyes her, seeming critical. The silence stretches uncomfortably. Ingrid stubbornly lets it continue. Finally, Leonie answers. “You told me once you aren’t that easy to win over. Well, neither am I. I want to know I’m getting what I’m giving.”

What does she mean? If she wants Ingrid to – what does she want Ingrid to do? What is she inviting? If she expects Ingrid to chase down her affection, she is to be disappointed! “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Ingrid says, a little stiffly.

Leonie barks a laugh. “No, guess you shouldn’t have.”

The rest of the day, Ingrid feels a little put out. Almost offended. She can’t put her finger on why, exactly. If Leonie likes her so much . . .

The unease continues into the next day, a constant internal sighing. What could she – what should she have said? Instead of, _I shouldn’t have asked_?

Was it a knee-jerk reaction? Or was it her true feeling on the subject? Should she apologize? Would it be warranted?

Lying awake at night, she runs the matter over and over in her mind.

Fine, she’ll admit it: only right now, and to herself. She likes Leonie, and more than deserved by only friendship. Maybe she should have admitted it to Leonie’s face, after Leonie spelled out her own reasons for liking Ingrid, so effortlessly, as it seemed. No! But why not? She’s not supposed to like Leonie. This had been the same thought, with Dorothea, although more fleeting. Her father would be so disappointed. It would be downright foolish. Two women, one a noble, one a commoner? Ingrid rejects every man who comes asking for her hand, and then to accept a woman? It’s not right. It would be even more shameful to actively chase out the one she desires. Yes, it’s much better to not admit to anything than to consider what’s to be done about it.

And it’s probably just something that will pass anyways, this fascination with Leonie. Sure, she is unique. She’s a force. Her brashness is charming, to Ingrid. The eyes of a hunter, the form of a fighter. Unlike any other girl at the Academy. The way she so simply and candidly laid out what she liked about Ingrid . . .

Sometimes, Ingrid thinks she should just avoid women for the rest of her life, as they seem to cause her so much anguish.

*

For the next months, Ingrid and Leonie only occasionally spar. They’ll trade looks from across the dining hall. Ingrid thought she would find hostility in Leonie’s gaze, but there is only a hardness, and something like regret.

Ingrid tries to think like this: They have only a few moons left. Soon after, Dimitri will no doubt be crowned king, and Ingrid will be one of his knights, in Faerghus. Leonie will go to the Alliance, to pursue her mercenary path. Ingrid abandons the warm dream of visiting the Alliance, seeing the capital, with Leonie’s promises of its luxury. Really . . . she’ll have to abandon more than just that one dream.

However, everything Ingrid thought _would_ happen – does not happen.

*

If there’s something that could keep suitors off Ingrid’s doorstep and simultaneously give her a real reason to prove her abilities as a knight – it’s war, and war comes.

The Empire declares war on all of Fodlan, for whatever reason Ingrid doesn’t specifically know, only that they’ve managed to turn half of Faerghus against itself.

Suppose it worked out well in the end that Ingrid never tried to make amends with Dorothea, for the mage is firmly at Edelgard’s side now. There’s the chance that Ingrid might have to face her in battle someday.

The war starts with an explosion, fades to a painful simmer. Simmers, smolders for five long, exhausting years. Dimitri, their soon-king, is accused of murdering the regent, and executed. Without a king, the half of Faerghus still loyal to the Blaiddyd line flounders. Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix hold the line against the traitor that rules the other half of their country, but days are long, and the work never ends. All the while, they are plagued by the feeling that the Empire is slowly strengthening and spreading its influence, and will eventually overwhelm them at its convenience.

Ingrid has no reason to think much of other friends from her Academy days, not even Leonie, except on the occasion a laugh too similar reminds her, or a shade of orange jogs the memory of Leonie’s favorite colour.

Together with Sylvain and Felix, Ingrid chases reports of a beast tearing down Imperial battalions. There is a thin hope that it might be Dimitri, somehow escaping his reported death, unleashing vengeance. They do not find anything until one miraculous day, the day of the would-be Millennium Festival, Dimitri returns to them, at Garreg Mach.

He returns to them, missing an eye; a violent creature, a tempest. Dimitri is not the man he once was, and refuses to return to his own land to take back his crown; instead, he plows on for Enbarr and Edelgard’s head.

But they still follow Dimitri – ‘they’ being an assorted group of those still loyal: his childhood friends, battalions from some of the southern Faerghan lords, Seiros soldiers, Rodrigue and his men. There is no choice but to follow. He is their true king, whether he sits on the throne or not, and they’ve sworn allegiance.

Ingrid has sworn allegiance.

Their next stop is Gronder Field.

**

A messenger was sent to the Alliance army to request aid, but though the golden banners of the Alliance are clearly visible from the air, there is only confusion on the battlefield as the Faerghus army scrambles across the creek on the north side and clashes with both Alliance and Imperial forces.

Ingrid has a score of pegasus knights under her command. They’re set to intercept Caspar and his wyvern rider battalions, while staying clear of the center ballista lined with Imperial archers.

Chaotic conflict ensues. The Battle of Eagle and the Lion was organized child’s play, a cute exhibition, compared to this. Here, all three parties are desperate to survive and hungry for victory, and they’ll kill to have it.

Ingrid is completely occupied, legs gripping her mount as they dip and wheel, maneuvering around lobbed casts and wyvern rider axes and arrows from below, now swooping in with a thrust of Ingrid’s lance, now evading. She does catch a glimpse of what must be Leonie in the skies; who else wears that orange hue? _So she’s still a flier –_ that’s the only thought Ingrid has time for. She has her own fliers to take care of. The signals for her battalion are on the back of her saddle, and she can select the desired coloured flag by touch easily: one for engage, one for retreat, one for hold position. She will give arm signals after switching flags, to provide further detail on direction. By now, her battalion knows many of her general strategies, which makes fighting as a unit easier.

However, her command on her fliers is slipping in this chaos. There are too many foes coming from too many directions; she is not sure how many of her battalion is still around her. An Alliance wyvern goes crashing to the ground after being hit by a red-purple bubbling shaft of magic. Below, Ingrid sees the offending unit: it’s Vestra, Edelgard’s right-hand man. It doesn’t look like there are many archers around him – but there’s Sylvain, cantering straight for the man. _Brave but stupid!_ The paladin could probably decimate Vestra with the Lance of Ruin, but the dark mage isn’t going to let him get that close. Sure enough, Sylvain is still a few hundred meters out when Vestra casts a beam of dark magic that takes out his mount and sends him rolling.

Ingrid swoops in, urging her pegasus down with a tug on the reins and pinch of her knees. She has one javelin left, which she snaps out of the saddle and hefts. Closing in, her stomach pressed against her spine with the downwards acceleration but her focus razor sharp, she looks straight into Vestra’s nasty face as he notices her approach. Around his summoning hand whirls a dark sigil. At the last moment, Ingrid throws the javelin with a yell and yanks her mount into a sharp sideways bank. Black magic crackles in her peripheral, and her flight path goes out of control as Vestra’s magic scores her mount’s right wing.

She prepares for a crash landing – jumps at the last minute as her pegasus careens to the ground, taking out someone’s brawler, rolls and jumps to her feet as fast as she can, avoiding the thrashing wreckage of her mount, hand going to the pommel of her sword at her side.

Vestra approaches, the javelin only having scraped his thigh, another sigil at the ready. He’s not far away; Ingrid’s fast; there’s not going to be any easy dodging, so she unsheathes her sword with a bright metal sound, and sprints at him. 30 feet become 20 become 10 and Vestra unleashes his cast before she’s quite reached him. She throws herself to her stomach on the grass, feeling the whoosh of the magic overhead. Starting to scramble up, she’s sure she can have her blade through his throat in seconds – but when she’s just recovered to one knee, she sees the dark mage has withdrawn a levin sword from a sheath she didn’t see. The magic blade writhes, and it’s pointed straight at her.

It’s over now. The reach of that thing is too long; she has no hope of fighting him. She can only accept her quick end –

But the magic blade does not lash out to run her through. Instead, an arrow whizzes by her ear and thuds square into Vestra’s chest. He staggers back, as another joins it, and then another, at the base of his neck. Vestra topples, dead.

Ingrid quickly finishes the task of getting to her feet, whips around backwards, to see her saviour --

\-- Leonie. There is the redhead, bow secure in one hand, other one still poised, holding the imprint of an arrow released. Her hair is longer, tied away to one side. She stands straight, a triumphant grin on her face, and even in the partial cloud cover, her orange-brown eyes are stunning as ever. Ingrid inhales sharply. She is older, more beautiful, her shoulders full and thighs strong --

But behind her there’s a red-clothed mage –

“ _Leonie! Behind you—”_ Ingrid screams, starting a mad dash.

A bloom of fizzling squares blacken out behind Leonie, throwing her forward and down.

Ingrid charges towards the offending mage. She won’t be late this time. Her sword cleanly slices through the mage’s unprotected neck. Blood arcs out, splatters.

Urgently, Ingrid returns to Leonie’s side.

*

In the end, no one really wins.

Dimitri, Sylvain, Felix, Mercie – the core Blue Lions are all surviving. But Rodrigue, who was the first to bring Faerghus loyals to their aid, is dead. Their forces are fractured. The slain on the field wear every color. It seems as if the Alliance has retreated – they’re nowhere to be found. Edelgard was here at one time, but now she is not, and it seems like her forces have retreated as well, likely warped away those surviving, given the Imperial army’s affinity for magic.

The Faerghus forces retreat to Garreg Mach, to pull themselves back together. Their king is dazed by Rodrigue’s death, the only boon being that he can be transported back instead of forcing a relentless push onwards to Enbarr.

Ingrid’s pegasus has to be put down on the field. They recover a few mounts, riders dead. She picks one and a healer helps her hoist Leonie onto the steed. She’s advised of a certain herbal poultice that should be applied to the wound on her back, sealed from being life-threatening by the healer, but still in poor condition. Holding Leonie secure, they make a slow ascent, headed for the monastery.

*

Ingrid and other fliers arrive back at Garreg Mach first. One of Ashe’s riders helps Ingrid get Leonie into a bed, then Ingrid’s on her own to care for the woman.

She’s always paid careful attention when taught non-magical healing methods, given her lack of training in magic. She knows what the herbs look like and how hot the water has to be before she puts them in. After the required leaves and roots are in the pot, she returns to Leonie’s bed, managing to prop her on one side with a healthy amount of pillows. She’s still unconscious – dark magic will do that to you, keep you out for awhile. Carefully and a little self-consciously, Ingrid takes her armor off, undoes her coat; the last layer closest to her skin is a tunic, burnt through by the magic. This saves her the task of removing it altogether; she only has to cut it open further in the back to give her good access to the injury. There, Leonie’s skin is the typical blackened tinge of a dark magic hit, but there is no bleeding, thanks to white magic healing.

Ingrid goes back to check on the herbs. They’re ready. She grinds them and prepares the poultice, settles back down by Leonie’s side to apply it. It’s sticky enough it won’t need a wrapping as long as Leonie’s propped up in the right way.

Ingrid sets to work. Leonie is warm under her touch. It has been more than five years, but it feels like only yesterday they were sparring together on these very grounds, with her so close. Betraying the passage of time, though, are several scattered scars on Leonie’s back. The muscles underneath, though relaxed, don’t go unnoticed, as Ingrid applies the poultice in pressed patches. She finds her cheeks hot as she works. Truth be told, she’s imagined this before, being able to touch Leonie this closely. But to react to it like this? A final piece of poultice covers the last bit of Leonie’s injury, but Ingrid lingers just above the small of Leonie’s back, her fingers learning the warm muscle on either side of her spine. Her touch moves farther up, below her shoulderblade and over, to where her lat tucks into her upper arm, feeling every ridge and curve. This is the back of an archer, for sure. Seems the heat from Leonie flows into her as she touches . . . wait, what’s she doing? What’s she _doing?!_ She takes her hand away quickly as if burned.

Suddenly, she realizes she’s hungry, and exhausted. The afterbattle sets in. She needs to record their losses, injuries. She herself needs to rest, or she’ll be of no use.

But she doesn’t want to leave Leonie.

What did they stop being friends over, back at the Academy? Ingrid was young then. It doesn’t matter now. It’s behind her.

In the end, she manages a few things (food, a cold bath, scribbling down battle outcomes) and piles up blankets on the floor in Leonie’s room. It is not comfortable, but in her state, she is out like a light.

*

Ingrid wakes early in the morning out of habit. She checks on Leonie, peeling back an edge of the poultice; the black marking from the magic wound is fading. Leonie is still asleep.

Ingrid steps outside to gauge the time by the light in the sky. The ground troops should be arriving any moment. She spends the next few hours kicking herself into gear, in and out of Leonie’s room as she attends to her pegasus battalion duties and assists in organizing rooms and supplies.

On one such return to Leonie’s room, the redhead is just beginning to stir.

“Where’s Chicken,” is the first thing Leonie says.

“Chicken?” Ingrid says, at attention, sitting on the chair by her side and feeling her forehead with her wrist. Warm, no fever, still good.

“Chicken . . . “ Leonie says.

“You’re hungry?”

Leonie’s eyes float around the room; she struggles to sit up but Ingrid presses her back down. “No . . . _Chicken_ . . . is he OK?”

Ingrid has a sudden thought. “Is ‘Chicken’ your pegasus?”

“Yeah,” Leonie says. “Did they get him? I’ll fucking _kill them_ –”

“We may have them in the stables, we recovered three mounts . . . one has orange patterns on his rump. Favoring a hoof, but wings are fine.”

“That’s him,” Leonie sighs with evident relief, relaxing. “Stupid horse. Always getting hurt.”

“Why did you name your mount _Chicken_?”

Leonie’s gaze seems to lock onto Ingrid. “Ingrid?!” she exclaims, ignoring the question. “Ingrid, what the – where the fuck am I?” She pushes back against Ingrid’s staying hand and immediately yelps in pain.

“Lie _down_ ,” Ingrid says. “You were hurt by a dark mage at Gronder. Both the Alliance and the Empire retreated, as far as I know. I think all sides took heavy losses. I brought you back to Garreg Mach.”

Leonie looks around the room. “So you did,” she murmurs. This is one of the old dormitories, which are mostly converted into rooms for the wounded now. “I should get back to the Alliance. Do you know if Claude survived?”

“I haven’t heard. Anyone’s guess,” Ingrid says.

“Hey, you chopped your hair,” Leonie says, again jumping around topics. A decent dark magic wound can scramble your brain a bit while it’s healing, Ingrid knows from one unfortunate experience.

“I did, it’s very practical. I wish I did it sooner,” Ingrid says.

“It looks good. Really good. You look good. And tired. Aren’t we all, though.”

_You look good too._ But she can’t say it. Or can she? Leonie keeps going before Ingrid musters the nerve.

“But I gotta get back. What’s Dimitri doing with you all, anyways? We’ve been trying to figure it out. We’re going to land both our countries in the grave, if we don’t manage to fight Adrestia together.”

“I know! We sent a messenger to you for help, but they must have not arrived.”

“Honestly . . . we’re not in much of a state to help. Claude’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Things in the Alliance aren’t as good as they seem.”

“Stay with us. You know what’s going on in the Alliance. You could help with strategy . . .”

Leonie shakes her head. “I have to go back. My village – the battlefront is approaching. I have to help protect them.”

“I understand,” Ingrid says.

There’s a small smile on Leonie’s face. “Of course you would, pegasus knight.”

“Falcon knight rank now, actually,” Ingrid says proudly.

Leonie shakes her head again. Her long hair . . . Ingrid’s obsessed with this look. Her face, more mature after 5 years. She can’t describe all the little changes, but together, it’s something to behold. “Things are sure fucking different, huh?”

Ingrid has no reply. The answer is evident. “One thing hasn’t changed, though, to my surprise. You’re still on the back of a pegasus.”

Leonie makes an exasperated noise. “It’s turned out that’s how I’m most useful for now. Hey, if I’m going back, I’ll talk to Claude. How are you guys? How is Faerghus? What’s your plan?”

“I honestly don’t know. We lost Rodrigue on Gronder. Felix’s father, might as well have been Dimitri’s father too . . . Dimitri has not been well, but he’s been able to fight like a madman, his stamina – well it’s been frightening. Until now. He was dragged into the infirmary when they arrived back this morning and I haven’t heard word on his state. I’m not sure what he’ll have us do next. We were on a march to Enbarr . . . I hope that will change.”

“I’m not sure if that information is going to help us decide anything.”

“You could wait . . .”

“My family, my village,” Leonie says. “I have to go.”

“Alright. Look, I’ll call in a healer again, and make sure your saddlebags are stocked for flight.” Ingrid gets up. “Stay here,” she says.

Leonie nods. “Yes, captain falcon knight,” she says, making a weak salute.

Ingrid turns to go just in time to hide her smile.

**

Leonie is cleared to fly, just barely. Ingrid’s not entirely sure if everyone would approve of letting the Alliance flier go, but there is so much mayhem right now with the return of the Faerghan forces to Garreg Mach that no one will have time to question or take issue.

They walk out to the pegasus stables, where Leonie greets her saddled, bridled mount with an affectionate scratch on its nose. “Chicken”, as it were, still favors a hoof, but should be alright to fly. There is much activity in the stalls behind them; neighing horses, soldiers hauling hay and tack.

“I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re the one who brought down Vestra. But you really shouldn’t have. You had no duty to protect me,” Ingrid blurts as Leonie takes the reins and starts leading Chicken slowly out to the takeoff plateau outside. They continue there, in step.

“I know, I know I didn’t. I just saw him and you, and there was the shot, and I took it. Honestly . . .” Leonie trails as they pause on the open grassy space, away from the noise of the stables. The earth is trodden with hoof marks and scattered with feathers; there are red lines painted on the grass for the takeoff formations. “. . . I just needed to say sorry. For being such a dickhead at the Academy.”

Ingrid blinks, surprised. That’s not really how she sees it. Chicken lowers his head and snuffles at the grass.

“I didn’t get what I wanted from you and so I just decided we couldn’t be friends . . . goddess that’s so fucking childish,” Leonie continues. “I should’ve just joined the Lions when you asked. You don’t belong to any of your suitors but I was framing you like a possession all the same. Like I could just corner you and demand what I wanted. I’m glad you didn’t ask again. I didn’t deserve it. You’re a good woman and you get to choose what you want. But you know that, don’t you?”

“I . . . I think so.” Ingrid says. She swallows. _But I did want that. I did want you . . ._ “I was stupid at the Academy, too. I thought I could somehow please my father, and serve Faerghus, and be happy myself, and I didn’t think you were part of that grand plan after that day I asked you to join. But –“ Ingrid laughs, at herself, shortly. “But now, making decisions every month, every week, that will certainly save some and kill others – I understand that I cannot have everything. Yes, I get to choose what I want . . .but there’s a cost, isn’t there?”

Leonie raises an eyebrow, looking almost surprised. “There’s always a cost, just has to be worth it,” is all she says, not prodding Ingrid further. “Like the cost of taking you hunting was not getting anything good,” she grins. “You’re so fucking loud in the bush.”

“That’s why I fly, and I don’t hunt,” Ingrid says.

Leonie laughs, a sound Ingrid misses. “I should go. Bye, Ingrid. I’m glad to see you’re doing well in the Faerghus army. You deserve it. Thanks for saving me, and don’t fucking die,” Leonie says. “See you at the party when Edelgard’s finally down, maybe.”

“Right. And –“ Leonie knees Chicken and whistles for flight, and Ingrid runs back a few paces to avoid a face-lashing of pinion feathers – “--and thanks for saving me!” she calls.

The wingbeats of the pegasus drive Ingrid’s hair back from her face in fluttering blasts.

Leonie calls back something unintelligible as they lift off and fly away.

Ingrid watches for as long as she can spare, her heart tight.

*****

When Dimitri is cleared to leave the infirmary, he shows up to the next war council. For the first time in many moons, he agrees with the other commanders: they should march to Fhirdiad, retake their own land from the rule of a traitor, before attacking the Adrestian capital.

So, to Fhirdiad they will go, once their forces are again ready for the journey and another battle.

**

Ingrid assumes her usual duties. Things aren’t as tense as they have been ever since Dimitri began his bloody path towards Enbarr. He starts to eat with them again. He starts to talk with them again. Everyone – quite literally, everyone – seems relieved.

There is a short wartime funeral for Rodrigue. Ingrid watches Felix while the traditional rites are read for his father. Felix doesn’t express emotion well, but he looks . . . empty, in a way. But when Dimitri talks to him after the funeral, quietly, Felix doesn’t snap back, like he usually would. So Ingrid leaves them to talk.

**

It is only the second evening after Leonie left. Ingrid told the war council of how Vestra met his demise, leaving out the specifics of what happened to Leonie after.

As talks conclude (running an hour late, but what war council doesn’t?) Ingrid heads out to the dining hall. Seems Felix has the same thought.

“So, where did you take Leonie after she shot down Vestra?” he says to Ingrid.

“I – When did I say I did anything of the like?” Ingrid replies.

“I noticed you with someone else flying off, pretty sure it was her.”

Ingrid sniffs. No point in arguing with Felix, even if you’re right and he’s wrong. “She got wounded by another mage. It’s my fault, really – she saw me about to get skewered by Vestra’s levin sword and a mage snuck up on her from behind, just after she shot her last arrow. I brought her here to rest for a night, and then let her leave to go back to her village. And Claude, after, I take it.”

“Don’t you think she would have been useful?”

“Her duty is to the Alliance, not us.”

“Duty,” Felix scoffs.

They’ve had this conversation before.

“Her heart is there,” Ingrid tries, an equally truthful approach.

Felix just snorts. “Really, after she got that badly injured, defending you? Didn’t think you were even friends. Pretty idiotic thing to do for someone on the other side.”

Ingrid swallows, not sure what to say. She tucks her hair behind her ears; it never stays there for long, being so short.

“Whatever, you’re alive at least. I’m hungry,” Felix says.

**

Ingrid’s tired that night, but not exhausted.

Someone has taken her previous dorm to house a wounded soldier, so she sleeps in the room where she kept Leonie for that night.

She’s been doing something lately, something that feels a lot like making a choice.

In the dim light with the curtains shut and the door closed, she lies facing the ceiling, a hand beneath the covers and her underclothes, circling her clit with one or two fingers. The thought of Leonie being in this same bed, the strange but welcome smell now faint, the feeling of her skin under Ingrid’s hand – something Ingrid can only push away for the day, and in the evening, she gives in.

She throws off the covers, too hot, arching up, pressing into her hand, movements quickening. Thinking of what the rest of Leonie is like, bare as her back had been to Ingrid’s touch . . . oh, Leonie’s different now, she’s more than she was at the Academy, grown into herself, not just a wannabe merc, but a warrior. Yes, that’s what she was, appearing on Gronder as Ingrid’s saviour: a real warrior, in every inch of her beauty.

Ingrid had, shamefully, cried, the first time she came to such thoughts (the first night after Leonie left). It was relief and pleasure and panic all at the same time. It was solid proof, higher than she’d ever brought herself in the past (which had been out of necessity, a mechanical elimination of the need that came and went), and yet frightening, to think that _this_ was what she was.

But this _is_ what she is.

She bites her lip and muffles stammered moans. _Leonie, Leonie, Leonie –_ she comes again, and it’s a little less frightening, and feels more like how it’s supposed to be.

***

The march to Fhirdiad is long and foreboding.

Retaking the capital is not easy either, but they win the battle and put down the traitor after a long and bloody conflict.

Dimitri is crowned, even in the mayhem and destruction after the fight.

The Faerghus forces go into full recovery mode. Restocking, treating, organizing, healing, sending out messages – they must prepare for a proper assault on Enbarr if they are to be successful.

Ingrid goes to sleep exhausted every night yet again, doing things she wouldn’t normally do outside of her pegasi captain duties – everything from list-making to people-ordering to message-delivering. Whatever king and country need her for, she does, and gladly. She is satisfied to work for such a cause.

She knows House Galatea is safe, for now. They’ve sent some fliers – their specialty – to Fhirdiad. Many of these men and women Ingrid already knows. Her father is safe, and so are her grandparents who also live at the House.

She’s been thinking about choices. She has long since gauged her father’s reaction should she eternally refuse every suitor’s hand. To be a distinguished knight in the Kingdom would not be a total disgrace; yes, she is the only hope for a blood heir, but from who she knows and how she’s grown, sometimes loyalty and love run thicker than blood. Someday, she could picture herself finding someone to place at the helm of House Galatea in her stead.

War has fairly made the choice for her, in that respect. But what of Leonie? If they see each other again, and they are both young and well, what should Ingrid say? Now, she thinks the cost of silence might be greater than the cost of her House’s disapproval, greater than the cost of admitting really this is how she’s felt all along.

For the time being, it’s unlikely they’ll meet again soon.

But not even a fortnight into the recouping efforts, an exhausted pegasus arrives at the castle, its rider almost falling out of the saddle as she dismounts.

**

“We need help,” Leonie says. She’s got the look in her eyes of someone who’s still in the middle of the battle, even as she stands in the council hall of Fhirdiad’s castle, Dimitri there to hear her plea, along with his trusted commanders. “Claude was hoping the Adrestian forces would thin enough by the time they reached Derdriu. They haven’t. They’re going to crush the capital in several days’ time. We’re going to evacuate people by ship but we haven’t got enough forces consolidated there. Please. We need reinforcements by Thursday.”

“They’re already within distance of Derdriu?!” Ingrid exclaims.

“Yes,” Leonie confirms. “We number them to be twenty-score by the time they reach the city. We have only half that.”

“Who’s at their helm?” the king inquires.

“A man called Arundel,” Leonie says.

There is a flicker in the king’s remaining eye, a clench of his fist. “We will go,” Dimitri says.

**

“Leonie I – I need to talk to you,” Ingrid says. It grows dark, and it seems Leonie is determined to fly through the night.

Leonie is already one foot in a stirrup. Chicken lowers a wing to allow her up.

“We’ll talk after Arundel and his forces are dead,” Leonie says firmly. “Hey. At least you’ll get to see Derdriu. Sooner than you thought, huh?”

“Don’t fly too hard,” Ingrid says warningly.

“Your pegasi healers gave Chicken some stamina. We’ll do what I have to,” Leonie says, giving her mount an appreciative scratch. “My village was already ransacked by the Empire. We have to save the capital. Claude has to know help is on the way, as soon as possible.”

“I’ll bring my best fliers to your aid. Derdriu will not fall on our watch,” Ingrid swears.

Leonie pauses, a slow shake of her head and a smile growing. “You’re such a knight,” she says, and then she kicks her mount into a trot for takeoff.

**

The road to Derdriu is long. Instead of hauling a huge force all the way, Dimitri, his commanders, and smaller elite battalions make the march, with a heavy concentration on their fliers, led by Ingrid and Ashe. Mages flank the front and back of the troops, quickening their pace with layer-by-layer warping of the soldiers in formation. Ingrid would much rather be flying than getting warped about; tends to unsettle your stomach.

Derdriu is not like anything Ingrid’s seen, as they approach.

The architecture is markedly different from that of Faerghus and Adrestia both. There are fewer buttresses and towers, yet the sprawling capital is still impressive, in a smooth and simple way. Instead of hewn adornments, greenery decorates the city. Tall channels arch along main pathways, carrying water. The streets are wider than the generally narrow cobbled paths in Fhirdiad.

The city is eerily empty, however – out to sea, Ingrid sees ships, which must hold the evacuated citizens Leonie spoke of.

And there is of course Arundel and his army.

**

The Imperial forces, eager for blood, plunge recklessly into the city. Claude’s small but elite forces await them. Ingrid and Ashe don’t waste much time in attacking the enemy from the sky, and soon, the ground units of the Faerghan army approach from behind, sandwiching Arundel’s men. The united armies are even in number, but what really gives the allied forces the advantage is their fliers. The ground units quickly target and eliminate enemy archers, and from there, the going is easier. Ingrid has the freedom to direct her battalion to swoop in for pass after pass at the front lines of Arundel’s forces, freeing the beleaguered Alliance elites and soldiers. Leonie is in the sky as well, close to Claude on his wyvern; Ashe and his troop of wyverns are evidently tired from the flight but he commands them well to stay out of range of enemy magic, particularly Arundel’s casts.

The Imperial ranks begin to thin and soon Arundel is exposed. An arrow from Claude and a javelin from Dimitri seal his fate.

The battle is won – and hopefully, with it, support for the coming march on Enbarr.

**

After the arduous task of accounting for her fliers, ensuring the dead are known and the injured are cared for – human and pegasus included – Ingrid reports to Dimitri. The coast along Derdriu is a hive of activity, as ships return to port, ready to return at least some of the evacuated people to their homes.

Dimitri and Claude are talking by the only port that does not have an approaching ship, the one closest to Derdriu’s palace. Felix is at Dimitri’s side, and Claude alone. The palace, behind them, is a sprawling building, having not much resemblance to the castle in Fhirdiad. Its crowning feature is a pyramidal kind of garden, probably a couple hundred feet high, steps wrapping around the structure, greenery and plants spilling down from the top. If there’s time, Ingrid would like to walk there. Ahead, the ocean is blue and then yellow and orange with the beginning of sunset towards the horizon. This ocean does not have the fierce claws, deep blue and gnashing foam of the ocean off Faerghus’ coast, though they are one and the same. The smell is more pungent, the air more humid. Curiously, Ingrid doesn’t really mind.

As Ingrid approaches, the king turns to acknowledge her.

“Ingrid! How are our pegasi?”

“Eight dead, seventeen wounded. Overall, we are not badly hurt. The strategy to target enemy archers worked well,” she reports.

Dimitri nods.

“Ingrid. Appreciate your help, as I’ve been telling everyone,” Claude addresses her. Ingrid, pleased with the praise from the man, gives him a short bow.

“Only my duty,” she replies. She leaves off a “Lord Riegan” at the end. She knows Claude didn’t like any formality in his days at the Academy and supposes he hasn’t changed.

“You know, I didn’t ask Leonie to go send for help. I was skeptical we’d get any, at first. It’s been pretty hard to keep track of what’s going on in Faerghus,” Claude comments, his tone lilting and lightly jovial as usual. You’d hear that tone of voice that regardless of whether he just won a trophy or lost a battle. “But, once we got the message that Dimitri was crowned, I let her go. She was pretty certain that you and your pegasi would come, at least. And here you are.”

“I’m glad she reached us in time,” Ingrid says.

“Me too. Hey, you can take a room in the palace for your stay tonight. Just wander around until you find something you like. Since the war started, I’ve pared down the staff. Gotta lower the administration expenses to feed battalions.”

“That is a constant struggle. Then lose too many administrators, and the battalions have to do their own expense calculations,” Dimitri commiserates.

“If I have to do one more page of ledgers after this war, just kill me where I stand,” Felix comments under his breath.

Ingrid makes a face at him, then turns back to Claude. “Thank you,” she says, bowing a little, taking her leave. Hopefully it’ll be easy to find their baths, with all this water in the city.

**

She does find what she hopes are the baths. There is running water in and out – something that would be nice in Faerghus, but then heating the water becomes a task. It’s quiet, nobody else there, and she washes in peace. She flew and fought in three layers, and removes one – it is warm enough, and if she doesn’t have clean clothes, at least she’s rid of one dirty layer.

Next, she strolls to the pyramid-garden. The green almost hurts her eyes, and yet she wants to look and look, hungry for the colour. There are flowers of all shades, and small waterfalls trickling or splashing down the terraces of the pyramid. It does look somewhat overgrown and wild, but that only adds to the charm.

She’s not sure if she wants to head up now, though. It’s getting late and her stomach is growling – time to find some food . . .

“Hey, Ingrid. How’s Derdriu?”

Ingrid turns around from where she stands on the third step of the stairs up into the garden. At the grassy base stands Leonie.

“Leonie! It’s nothing like Faerghus – but in a good way,” Ingrid says, heading back down. Her stomach gurgles, interrupting any further comment.

“We’re not gonna feast tonight, but there should be bread and fruit around,” Leonie laughs. She wears her dark orange shirt with its coattail in the back, and shorts, but lacks her pauldrons and other battle gear. Ingrid feels a little overdressed, still in her plackart, boots and greaves.

She follows just a half step behind Leonie as they head indoors, to the kitchens, and find food. True to Leonie’s prediction, there is bread and fruit. They spend a while strolling through the estate as they eat. It is so much more open than the Houses of Faerghus, built to embrace the warm air instead of shut out the cold. Breezes blow through the slatted wood placed in the many windows, sheer curtains waving.

“Oh goddess, I’ve never had a peach this good,” Ingrid says as she finishes the last bite of the juicy, fuzzy fruit.

Leonie is finishing a noafruit herself. “The ones at the monastery were usually pretty bruised by the time they made it there,” she agrees. She ducks into a room off the hallway they currently walk. The room seems more like a suite, with a low couch and slatted window on one wall, a carved table, a counter with dishes, and a doorway to a bedroom. The floor is tiled with painted stone, geometric patterns. Ingrid tosses the pits of her peaches into a basket on the counter and sits down on the wooden table to take off her boots and greaves. When that’s done, she stands on the floor. As she expected, the stone is warm. Warm!

“You would never get this kind of comfort from a stone floor at House Galatea,” Ingrid says with a grin. It feels good to free her legs from the armor. She stretches.

Leonie laughs, then goes to stand by the window, opening the wooden slats, looking out. Ingrid watches her. The sunset light falls in stripes on her face, making her tanned skin golden, her red hair bright.

“I never thought I’d like to live in one place. I’d get bored out of my fucking mind,” Leonie says. “But this city . . . repaired from the battle and all, it might not be so bad. The port, the ocean, beaches, sun . . . At least for a little while, I could stay.”

“Me too,” Ingrid says, still staring at Leonie.

From outside, there is the faint sound of the ocean, clamour of unloading ships. And what is that – birds? Leonie had spoken of the birds here. Perhaps they were frightened away by the battle, and now return.

Leonie whips around to meet her gaze. “Claude offered you your own bunk, no? Captain of the King’s Pegasi Knights, must have their own quarters.”

“I . . . could go find one,” Ingrid says. It is a weak suggestion. At Fhirdiad, Ingrid had told Leonie they needed to talk. Well, it’s her chance now, isn’t it?

“You could spend the night here. Room enough.” Leonie paces forwards, toward Ingrid, hazy, warm backlight.

Ingrid stands stock-still. She can hear herself breathe. She’s looking for any hint, any sign. Leonie stops, a few feet away, leaning against the wide doorframe that leads to the bedroom.

The thing is, Ingrid’s been given more than a hint, more than a sign. Before. Before when she thought none of this was meant to be, or should be. So it’s up to her: her prey is giving itself up; she’s only got to hunt. This is her choice, now.

“I’d like to stay,” Ingrid says, her own voice sounding distant. Sign enough that she’s thought of this, dreamed of this, for some time. She moves into action. She’s at Leonie in a few seconds, her arms wrapping around the cape tied at her waist, pulling herself in. Their noses brush and Leonie’s beautiful eyes are wide as Ingrid tilts her head and opens her lips and kisses her. She pushes into Leonie, silent and bold, and they move quickly backwards into the bedroom till they’re collapsed on the low, patterned mattress.

_Pounce._

Ingrid’s heart is already hammering. She leans over Leonie. What’s next? Leonie initiates. The redhead’s already fumbling with Ingrid’s plackart, undoing the straps, and she gathers the presence of mind to assist. Returns the favour; luckily the straps of Leonie’s coat are on the front. They undress each other in turn. No words. It’s clear what they both want, by now. Soon Leonie’s just in a tight, short tunic, tied at the sides; Ingrid similarly bare except her slightly fancier underclothes.

Ingrid can see the how the fabric of Leonie’s tunic presses against her breasts, the outline of her nipples. It makes her warm, in her cheeks and other places.

“I – when you were recovering at the monastery after Gronder – I had the thought I wanted to do this, see you like this –” Ingrid starts admitting, confessing.

“Oh,” Leonie says, with a grin. “Well, I’ve been thinking the same thing. About you. Maybe for longer . . . this what you wanted to talk about?”

“I suppose,” Ingrid says, trying to hold onto herself now that this is actually happening.

“Well, sometimes I talk with my hands,” Leonie says, a low murmur, a hum almost, as she takes the lower edge of Ingrid’s brassiere and unhooks the clasp, and Ingrid extends her arms to help Leonie remove the garment.

The look on Leonie’s face to see Ingrid bare wipes any doubts the pegasi captain had of her own appeal in the moment. “You look so fucking good,” Leonie mutters. She doesn’t miss how Leonie’s lips fall open, how she starts to lean in, before she stops.

“You mind?” Leonie starts to say, but Ingrid just says, “ _Please_ ,” and then Leonie’s taking one nipple in her mouth, her hand on the other.

Ingrid’s fairly sure her brain could fly from the cage of her skull from this alone. She makes a noise she’s never let herself make before as Leonie tongues and sucks her breast. Her hands go to the back of Leonie’s head, tangling in her hair, supporting and feeling the movement as Leonie adores her. It’s not even so much the physical sensation, it’s the fact that it’s Leonie herself – she’s – and Ingrid – and she – she can’t form much of a description other than a panted _Leonie!._

The redhead draws back, lips sliding off Ingrid’s nipple, her thumb leaving the other. Ingrid’s areolas are gathered from the attention, nipples hard. She knows the sensation underneath her: she’s starting to get wet, and just from that. No wonder, really.

Leonie’s still unfairly clothed. “You’re still dressed,” Ingrid pants and furiously goes to work untying the many strings holding the tunic close. Leonie leans back, forcing Ingrid to lie half on top of her as she works at the garment. Leonie’s hand goes to the small of her back, then to her remaining underclothes, pulling them down in a way unexpectedly gentle, then feeling her ass.

Ingrid’s never been appreciated like this before.

She gets the last knot of the tunic undone and forcefully wrestles the garment out from under Leonie, tossing it aside. The completion of what she hadn’t done, when Leonie was under her care at Garreg Mach, is heady. Now Leonie is laid bare, and for her eyes only.

Leonie is smaller than Ingrid, her areolas darker; Ingrid’s are more pink. The muscles of her chest are evident, the shape of her breasts and pectorals together strong and supple.

“Oh, goddess,” Ingrid breathes. There could not be a finer form.

“If you want, you can try me,” Leonie says. The meaning’s clear. Ingrid _does_ want. She’s never done this before, but she takes one tit in her mouth, careful of her teeth. She sucks gently and pulls off to the tip of the nipple. Leonie _groans._ Oh, right, the other one – Ingrid moves a hand there and thumbs the nipple in circles as she takes Leonie back in. She is warm, and there’s something heady about how she’s the perfect size, perfect fit for Ingrid’s mouth. Ingrid tongues her nipple as she eases off. She would do it again, but Leonie grasps either side of her head and urges her up further, pulls her up into a kiss. Their breasts press together as Ingrid opens her mouth against Leonie’s, letting her tongue inside.

Ingrid’s wet, feeling a heat building in her core. Angled so her legs are between Leonie’s, she grinds down, wanting for contact; Leonie brings her thigh up just enough to give the sweet pressure desired.

They only pause the kiss to pant for breath, then close in again. Now having tasted this, Ingrid’s sure she’s been starving for years. She moves her hips; she’s needy on Leonie’s thigh, each sensation better than the last and yet still not enough.

Leonie manages words the next time their lips part to gasp for air. Ingrid notices how she’s flushed and her hair is a mess, like a red halo around her. “What do you want, I can – I can give it,” Leonie says. Even in this moment, she’s so to-the-point.

Ingrid is nearly overwhelmed as it is. “Just this,” she manages, her hips moving as explanation, friction against Leonie’s thigh. “— _nnah_! Just,” she pants, and she has to do it again, it’s too good.

“Then move your leg,” Leonie says, but Ingrid’s not sure what she means, so Leonie has to put her hands on Ingrid and physically adjust her. Maneuvered so, Ingrid’s leg is against Leonie’s cunt. Ingrid doesn’t see but feels the heat, as Leonie shifts herself down a bit, seeking a closer contact. The redhead exhales sharply, a growl of a moan accompanying as she tilts her hips up, clit then lips rubbing on Ingrid’s thigh. Leonie, Leonie using – using Ingrid for this purpose – it’s _unbearable_ , in the best way _._ Ingrid starts moving again, trying to leave that leg anchored as possible for Leonie as she continues the rhythmic grind of her cunt on the firmness of Leonie’s muscle.

Beginning to lose herself in the pursuit, Ingrid’s not entirely aware of where Leonie’s hands are; all she knows is they’re touching and it feels good. Her arms are starting to shake and her eyelids starting to flutter as she supports herself above Leonie. She pants and gasps and lets out stuttered moans, no more control to stifle her sounds. She’s not going to last forever; at this rate she’s not going to last much longer at all. “ _Leonie_ ,” she pants, like she did by herself, alone with only her imagination, “ _I’m close I’m close – Leonie –_ “ and the movement of her hips grows more erratic, frantic, almost at her peak, feeling Leonie firm under her with each grinding movement, in turn the warmth and friction of Leonie on her own thigh. She lowers herself further; she needs to be closer, deeper. Leonie murmurs panted encouragements to her. She presses into Leonie, as if there she can be drawn to her true center, deep as the heart of the earth. Her core is tight with desire and needing release. “ _I’m going to –_ ” and she comes, cunt pulsing, clenching, in waves that turn her vision white.

She’s not aware of anything for a solid few seconds as the pleasure overrides her senses.

When the world around her kicks back into focus, she’s still leaning over Leonie, trembling, and Leonie’s lips are open as she pants with soundless moans, still rolling her hips urgently against Ingrid’s thigh. Her elbows dig back into the mattress, and Ingrid pushes back against the wanton motion to give her what she’s just received herself. The look on Leonie’s face is something that shouldn’t belong in this realm – she bites her lip, eyes half-shut in effort and need, in the tortured moments before climax. She quickens the rubbing strokes of her cunt against Ingrid. Like this, Leonie’s tits, stiff with arousal, are fair game, but Ingrid doesn’t have time to--

“Fuck! _Fuck, Ingrid—”_ Leonie bursts, a yell short of breath, and her arms go around Ingrid and pull them down, together, as she comes. She is hot, on and in between Ingrid’s legs. They are seamless, warmth and sweat and flesh and woman, intimate.

Ingrid feels Leonie’s breathing relax after some moments.

Slowly, they peel apart.

Ingrid feels herself blushing, the blooming satisfaction in her core undeniable along with the burn in her legs and arms.

Leonie is grinning.

“Hey. I’ve been waiting _so_ fucking long . . . That was fucking . . . that was fucking amazing.” She reaches to Ingrid and brushes sweaty blonde strands out of her face. Ingrid leans in for just a brief kiss. They look, really look, into each other’s eyes.

If the blush was fading, it’s back now. “Was I – was that sort of how it was supposed to –” Ingrid starts, glancing away.

“Shh. There’s no ‘supposed to’. Only shit to try. And we still got a long list if you ask me.”

Ingrid’s gaze has wandered down to Leonie’s still-bare chest. Her head a little more clear after orgasm, she has the presence of mind to feel slightly embarrassed, but not enough to stop her from admiring. Leonie is built so well . . . she could study her for a long time . . . her eyes trail lower, to her midsection – there is a scar there, and her muscle holds the fat overtop in strong form. There are two lines of muscle going from her hips, tapering downwards in a V, which Ingrid finds quite marvelous. Short hair, darker than the hair on her head, curls around Leonie’s clit, the head of which is just visible, and covers her outer lips, together softly as she relaxes on the mattress . . .

“What? You knew I had small tits before we got naked,” Leonie laughs, breaking the silence.

“Well of course,” Ingrid says. Then, thinking that’s come across critically: “But they’re perfect --! Sorry, I was just . . . looking.”

“Well me too, you, you’re honestly bigger than you let on,” Leonie returns. “You’re gorgeous, Ingrid. You’re a thing of beauty. You’re really something. You know, that’s what I wanted to tell you at the Academy, with everything else. I just knew you weren’t going to fucking say it back. And you didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t. I – I always liked you,” Ingrid bursts. “I just didn’t – my father wouldn’t be happy and I didn’t want to – I didn’t think I could, or should, or maybe – but it’s war. And I think I know now that I can only wait so long, or time will run out. I don’t want it to run out, before I have you, at least. You’re – I think I need you.” Ingrid almost feels like she’s going to cry. She’s going to finally say it, and maybe she will cry. “I need you, I choose you,” she says. The admission – the admission is freeing. Leonie laughs, the laugh Ingrid’s missed for so long, and puts a hand around her and pulls her in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all this was just gonna be 3k of sexy times and then i went crazy on leogrid vibes and wrote up their whole HISTORY  
> THANKS FOR READING LEMME KNOW IF I DID BAD OR GOOD  
> this is my first explicit fic go easy ahahahaha or not just rip into me ahahahaha ;)


End file.
